


Day 1: Pregame

by CheshireJabberwock



Series: Oumota Week 2018 [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mention of sex, Oumota Week 2018, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireJabberwock/pseuds/CheshireJabberwock
Summary: Months before Danganronpa V3, Kokichi Ouma jumped off a fire escape into Kaito Momota's life. For Oumota Week 2018.





	Day 1: Pregame

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1’s theme is “Pregame / Clothing Swap.” I chose Pregame, mostly because that’s where inspiration led me, but also partially because I REALLY dislike the popular pregame!Ouma fanon stuff and I wanted to shove my own vision of him out there, lol.
> 
> I follow a few theories:  
> \-- The cospox was a lie/disguise itself; Tsumugi was cosplaying the NDRV3 kids to fake audition tapes and Rantaro’s lab video, so the videos are not representative of the pregame kids.  
> \--They were actually for real kidnapped, and their names are the same. They also don’t differ too radically from their ingame selves. Same natures, different nurtures, essentially.  
> \--The Danganronpa franchise does not have 53 seasons, but just what they have in our world: three games and two anime. Team Danganronpa created NDRV3 to boost their fame and fortune using new technologies, and kind of went off the deep end in the process.  
> \--NDRV3 takes place within a computer simulation, so everyone can wake up alive at the end.
> 
> That’s all barely relevant today (if relevant at all), but I’m including it anyway for context. (For when it is relevant, later this week. ;3)
> 
> Warnings: mentions of abuse, a smidgen of physical violence, a pinch of sex

Day 1: Pregame / ~~Clothing Swap~~

 

\---

 

Kokichi’s eyes swept his surroundings without seeming to lift from the ground. With the assurance that no one was watching him, he casually turned down an alleyway.

He threw his schoolbag onto the nearest fire escape, and proceeded to hoist himself up. He kept his steps as light as he could, until finally, he reached the top. He tossed his schoolbag over the fence before climbing it with the ease of experience.

Kokichi dropped down onto the roof, and stretched his limbs.

He ought to be safe here for a while.

Kokichi gripped the fence, staring out over the city. The sun had risen enough to light the early morning rush to work or school or whatever dreary mundanities people did with their lives. He could see the train platform from here, and the crush of students unloading from every car.

Kokichi realized his free hand had lifted to the collar of his uniform, about to undo the top button.

 _“If I get one more call about you violating dress code, I’ll burn_ all _your fucking clothes and you can go to school naked! You know how much that place fucking costs us?!”_

Kokichi lowered his hand, scowling. Fine, he’d decided. His parents would never hear about him violating dress code ever again, if that was so important to his shitty school. They never called home about how often he missed classes, or skipped school altogether, but get photographed by a journalist walking onto the prestigious campus with his jacket tied around his neck like a cape, and he got a screaming lecture about decorum, a phone call home, _another_ screaming lecture from his Mom, and a beating from his Dad.

Honestly, it had been a mistake to ever do well in school. But he’d been too young and too naïve to realize that until it was too late, and suddenly everyone had _expectations_. From then on, he’d been nothing but a disappointment.

Whatever. School was a waste of time. He’d go in for exams and do well enough to mollify his parents, get through the year, and then get the hell out.

Maybe he’d go to college abroad. Then his parents would have a kid they could brag about, and he’d never need to see them or talk to them or think about them.

Distant shouts reached his ears, yanking Kokichi back to reality. He looked down.

Some delinquents were fighting. Three of them wore one school’s uniform, and the fourth wore a different one. Kokichi was pretty sure those were both for shitty public schools. Well, no surprise they were delinquents, then; they were too stupid for anyone to have any kind of expectations of them.

Must be nice.

Kokichi was content to just watch for a minute. It was three against one, but the guy by himself was holding his own pretty well. Even from this high up, Kokichi could tell that guy could out-think, out-maneuver, and out-fight the other idiots with ease.

But it _was_ three against one, and as Kokichi watched, the numbers advantage began to tell. The guy by himself was getting tired, and they’d have him backed into a corner soon.

For no other reason than whimsy, and because it might be an entertaining distraction, Kokichi made his way back down the fire escape as quietly as he could.

When he was low enough, he crouched down and waited, watching for the right opportunity. When he saw it, Kokichi vaulted over the railing and dropped almost a full story, bowling two of the bullies to the ground.

He heard and felt something _crunch_ when he landed, and one of the guys he’d knocked over screamed. A cursory look beneath him confirmed it was a broken arm. No big deal. What a big baby, to scream and cry like that over one broken bone.

The last bully standing, and the guy they’d cornered, both froze and stared at him.

Kokichi picked himself up and brushed himself off nonchalantly.

“Hiya!” he said brightly, stuffing one hand in his pocket as he gave a jaunty wave. “How’s it going, losers?”

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life, shorty,” the remaining bully growled, closing the distance to loom over Kokichi. It was cute how he thought being big automatically made him intimidating.

Kokichi burst out laughing. With a snarl, the bully lunged – and froze, as Kokichi whipped the switchblade out of his pocket, lightning fast, and tapped it lightly against the bully’s neck.

“Fuck off, trash,” Kokichi sneered.

“You’re crazy,” the bully spat at him. His two buddies were finally back on their feet, the less-injured one supporting the one with a broken arm. “You’re fucking crazy!” he called over his shoulder again, as the three of them ran.

Kokichi turned to grin triumphantly at the guy he’d saved, and got punched right in the jaw.

He reeled back, one hand lifting to rest on the throbbing point of impact, eyes wide. His Dad hit him harder than that all the time, but he hadn’t been hit by anyone his age since he’d started carrying a knife in elementary school.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the guy snapped at him, snatching up the knife Kokichi had dropped and throwing it in the dumpster beside him with more force and aggression than he’d shown in the fight.

Pffft. Whatever. Kokichi had more switchblades at home. And a multi-tool knife in his back pocket.

“Um, hello, I just _saved_ you,” Kokichi huffed, using the motion of crossing his arms and pouting to hide his appraisal of the guy.

He was more than a head taller than Kokichi, and twice as broad, buff and solid where Kokichi was slender and lithe. He’d gelled his maroon hair into tall spikes, and had an equally pointy goatee. His complexion was duskier than Kokichi’s, his purple eyes just a few shades darker.

In short, he was really hot. But he’d also just punched Kokichi in the face, which was pretty much the opposite of hot.

The guy’s mouth thinned as he looked Kokichi up and down, taking his measure much more obviously than Kokichi had taken his.

“Thanks, but I didn’t need any help,” the guy said gruffly, rubbing the back of his head. “Especially not from a guy who’d pull a _knife_ in a _fist fight_. What the hell, dude? I would’ve stopped him from hitting you.”

Oh. Oh, man, that was _adorable_. A delinquent with an honorable streak! Kokichi _supposed_ he could be generous and forgive the guy for punching him.

Kokichi shrugged. “It’s easier to win if you don’t play fair.”

“If you don’t fight fair, it’s not winning,” the guy retorted.

“Agree to disagree,” Kokichi suggested, then added with an impish grin, “even though you’re wrong.” As the guy spluttered indignantly, Kokichi held out his hand. “I’m Kokichi Ouma.”

That earned him an incredulous look, and then a sigh. “Kaito Momota.”  Momota took Kokichi’s hand in a firm grip. His eyes narrowed, and he yanked Kokichi’s hand – and, therefore, Kokichi – closer, and pushed up Kokichi’s sleeve before the smaller male could process what was happening and stop it.

“Why the fuck are you so damn skinny if you go to a snotty private school, can’t your folks afford to feed you – ” Momota started, and then cut off, as he took in the ugly bruises on Kokichi’s forearm.

Better there than on his face. Which was why they were there.

Kokichi wrenched his hand away, then concealed his startled alarm by tucking his hands behind his head and grinning. “You asking me out on a breakfast date, Momota?”

“I’m – what?” Momota stared at him, then scowled. “Don’t change the subject, Ouma – ”

Kokichi tilted his head, one finger against his chin in innocent curiousity. “If you’re mad that I’m skinny, that means you want me to eat, right? Or were you mad that I’m not skinny _enough?_ ” He made tears well in his eyes. “You want me to starve? Is that it?”

“Now hold on – ”

Kokichi’s lower lip began to wobble, blinking damp lashes pitifully. “I didn’t know you hated me that much, even though we just met.”

“You – ”

“And you even hit me, too!” Kokichi lamented, sniffling. “After I saved you! You’re so _mean_ , Momota!”

“ _FINE!_ ” Momota burst out, throwing his hands up. “Fine! We can get breakfast!”

Before Kokichi’s smugly triumphant grin could spread too wide, Momota leveled a finger in his face.

“But you’re gonna answer my questions, and it’s not a _fucking date!_ ”

 

\---

 

It was a fucking date.

Kaito had never imagined he’d lose his virginity underneath a rusty roller coaster in an abandoned theme park to a guy he’d only known for twelve hours, but here he was, dick-deep in Ouma’s ass and silently praying he wasn’t about to get teased for blowing his load after thirty seconds of clumsy thrusting.

“That was fast,” Ouma snickered.

Dammit.

“Shut up,” Kaito grumbled, and jacked him off.

Afterwards, they lay together, naked and sweat-soaked and glistening beneath the stars.

Kaito kept sneaking glances at Ouma. The guy was so small and pale, the mess of bruises along his arms and ribs stood out even in weak moonlight. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to get any concrete answers about why a guy who went to a private school for pampered rich boys was so beat-up and underfed.

Not to mention crazy enough to jump off a fire escape and tackle two guys twice his size, or pull a knife on someone who threatened him without even flinching.

Kaito had some guesses, and all of them pissed him the fuck off.

After twelve hours Kaito already knew Ouma was off his rocker and an insensitive jerk, but at the same time… Kaito couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a dizzyingly wild day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hung out with someone who could keep up with him. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much _fun_.

For every stupid idea Ouma had dragged him along for, Kaito had made sure to get even. Their stubborn tug-of-war had taken them from Ouma’s choice of breakfast, to the gym for a workout, to the park for a game of “catch me if you want your wallet back,” to Kaito’s choice of lunch, to the arcade for Ouma to kick his ass at DDR, to the pool for Kaito to trounce Ouma at laps, and finally to this abandoned theme park where, after testing the structural integrity of every ride still standing, Ouma had suggested sex so casually that Kaito’s response had been a blithe, “If you can even get me hard, sure.”

He’d thought Ouma was an even bigger virgin than he was. After spending all day with the guy, he really should have known better than to jump to conclusions based on Ouma’s short stature and innocently cute face. But Ouma had made it intoxicatingly clear that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Ouma had fulfilled his end of that bargain. What was Kaito supposed to do, go back on his word? Give Ouma more fodder to mock him with? He was hard and Ouma was cute and why the hell not, anyway?

Even winded and dizzy and still a little confused, Kaito was glad they’d fucked. Because now Ouma was snuggled into his side, sighing with contentment as he nuzzled at Kaito’s neck, the utter picture of peace.

A peace he definitely hadn’t had this morning.

That didn’t sit right with Kaito. Whoever was supposed to be taking care of this guy wasn’t doing it right, since he was all covered in bruises and could pull a knife without flinching, but at the same time so thirsty for friendship and affection that he’d spent all day with a guy he’d just met and offered sex without a hint of shyness or hesitation.

And if the people who were supposed to take care of him weren’t doing it, then they didn’t deserve to have him.

“Hey.” Kaito gently nudged Ouma with his shoulder, until drooping eyelids lifted enough for him to meet Kaito’s gaze. “Come stay at my place.”

“Moving pretty fast, aren’t you?” Ouma murmured with a sleepy giggle. Kaito resisted the urge to give him an exasperated smack. Did he have to turn everything into a joke?

“Don’t laugh, I mean it,” he grumbled. “My folks’ll feed you right, and anyone who wants to hit you would have to go through me. Your school’s only one stop down from mine. If your folks cared where you were, you woulda called ‘em by now.” Kaito had texted his parents that he’d probably be home late, but he hadn’t seen Ouma so much as check his phone all day.

The drowsiness left Ouma’s eyes. Kaito couldn’t read the look the smaller male was giving him, but even so, he met his gaze unblinkingly, stubborn and resolute.

“I’ll think about it,” Ouma said at last.

Not good enough. “Stay over tonight, at least,” Kaito pushed. “It’s late. You shouldn’t walk home by yourself.”

Ouma’s lips twitched with amusement, which scratched Kaito’s temper. His ruffled feathers were smoothed when Ouma drawled, “Fiiiiiine.”

Kaito brightened, but then Ouma continued cheerfully,  “If you’re _that_ desperate for someone to help with your morning wood, I guess I can give you a hand. Or a suck.” Ouma waggled his eyebrows.

“You little _shit,_ ” Kaito yelped, indignant that Ouma would still crack crass jokes even when Kaito was trying to be serious.

They rough-housed with each other, laughing and tossing playful insults back and forth. They fucked again. They dozed for a while under the stars.

Finally, they dressed, and Kaito led the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to balance out the POVs a little more, but oh well. Happy first day of Oumota Week!! I’m delighted to celebrate my favorite Danganronpa ship and one of my top OTPs of all time!!


End file.
